


Ghost In The Machine

by Batboyblues



Category: Batman (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Chaptered, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Relationships, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Multi, Other, Psychological Torture, Slow Burn, Torture, metaphoric character death, mild body horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-04-25 08:00:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4952638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batboyblues/pseuds/Batboyblues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of all ghosts the ghosts of our old loves are the worst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> None of the warnings are in this chapter btw

It wasn't hard for Dick to mourn his brother with his body.

It was impossible. 

Losing Jason, that was hard enough when Dick wasn't there, hadn't been able to think about doing anything. (That's a lie, he thinks about what he should have done all the time. If he had tried, to be closer, to be a brother, before, maybe he wouldn't have gone alone.) But this time, Dick had been there, on site, when he lost his little brother forever. The fire had been out of control by the time they arrived on the scene, the whole complex had been a hot mess of failed firecodes and too many people. It was suicide for them to even think they could help, so they did what they did best, and didn't think. They save lives, it's what they do. It was chaos, screaming families, the roar, heat of the fire, Tim kept commenting, the locations of the flame, how fast it was burning, someone set this, then some woman was screaming about her daughter still being inside, a floor number, and Tim ran inside without hesitating, bless his little hero heart.

It... gets weird, after that. Dick swears he heard Tim say something, "hey, wait" maybe, "let go" something. Everyone else says that the heat of the fire probably fried the coms and all he heard was static. That he was remembering it wrong. Not a minute after Tim rushed back inside a burning, collapsing building, it exploded, the force knocked Dick out flat. 

It was over in a flash of heat and pressure. A bomb, they get told after, Red Robin must have been standing right next to it, he was blown to tiny little bits. There was nothing of him that was recoverable. 

It never made sense to Dick. Where had the bomb been, that none of them had seen it. But Tim had found it so... accidently in his brief second sweep of the large building? And what about the reason he'd even gone back inside? There weren't any bodies found in the wreckage of the building, no Red Robin, no little girl. And no one kicked up a fuss about their missing daughter. Dick would have. Hell, he is. People don't just disappear. But the science! Friends and relatives say to him, trust the science. 

They staged a tragic end to Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne two weeks or so after the fire. Conveniently he'd just gotten his pilot’s license, and went on a solo trip over open ocean. A nasty storm kicked up out of nowhere and the plane went down. Body never recovered. He had a very nice tombstone next to his mother and father over an empty casket. But Dick doesn't go there often. When he misses Tim he goes back to the scene of the fire, no matter how tired or in pain or both, he will go there and look for what happened to his little brother. And also break the construction crews heavy machines so they can't cart everything away into some god forsaken landfill. It's his evidence.

"Jesus, big bird, you gotta leave this alone" Jason's deep voice wasn't obstructed by the voice modulator in his helmet, this was a personal visit. Dick groaned and glanced half heartedly at his younger brother through the remaining steal and brick of the burned out apartment building. "How many times have we gone over this site, huh? There's nothing here!"

"But, shouldn't there be? Not even a trace of him. Or that girl. Nothing. If that blast was so devastating that it disintegrated my brother, why weren't we hurt more? We were right outside! Where's the woman who was screaming about her daughter?" The argument was as tired as Dick was, but it was all he had. Jason had heard it at least a thousand times since the fire. A thousand more since Bruce staged Tim's death. 

He moved swiftly between the debris to grab onto Dick’s shoulder, the smooth material of the nightwing suit sliding out from his gloved hands as Dick twisted away from him. "Don't touch me" Dick snapped, aggravated, exhausted. He was at the end of his rope and it spoke to his mental state that Dick Grayson didn't want to be touched. 

"We've been over this, boyscout, that fire was a white hot burn, he was caught inside. And with the blast from the bomb, there wouldn't be anything left of him." Jason grabbed Dicks shoulder and spun him, making the older man look at him, "Re... Tim was quick and fast with nimble fingers, he probably thought he could defuse it. The building took most of the energy. B has described what happened to you multiple times. You're a sad case right now, big bird, I get that, it’s hard on all of us. Tim didnt deserve to die, but he did and you have to stop this"

Dick shoved Jason hard, "I can't stop! I can't give up on him! I won’t. I... I won’t" he growled and lunged, shoving him again.

"You're not giving up on him Dick. He's dead." Jason didn't push him back, hands clenching at his side with the want to, however. "You're messed up because of this right now. When's the last time you slept?" 

"That's what they said about you" Dick snapped, starting to pace among the ash and rubble and ignoring the question, "They said you were dead so I stopped looking and looked what happened."

Unable to hold back any more, jason lunged, punching Nightwing in the jaw "I was dead, Dick! There was nothing you could do about that. What are you saying, you'd throw Tim into the pit, too? How selfish can you be? Want him back so bad you'd ruin what life he'd get back?" Dick at least had the decency to look ashamed at that, "You need a body to give to the pit, Dickhole, look around, there is no body!"

"That's because he's not dead!"

"He is, Dick, he is! And god I wish it hadn't happened to Tim, but you have to accept it okay? You're a mess and everyone is handling you with kid gloves, but that's just feeding your delusion, isn't it?" Jason grabbed his older brother, pressing him back hard into one of the few remaining walls. "Tim is dead. He died right here, being the hero we... you helped him be. You can't help him anymore. If you need time to accept that, fine, take it. But stop pretending this is healthy. Stop pretending you're on a mission. So shape the fuck up and honor his memory."

Dick let out a dry sob, clutching weakly at Jason's shoulders, his strong façade crumbling like wet paper, "What if I can't, Jay? What if I can't anymore?"

"Then you join me and Roy, taking heads while we figure out who planted this bomb. No one else gets to walk away from killing a robin, Dick" But the older man was already shaking his head, more force behind his hands as he pushes himself from the wall, walking Jason backwards.

"Never! How could you even..." he starts, trailing off, eyes alight with fury, "Jason what do you think your playing at?"

"I think your tired, Dick." Jason says quietly, eyes sad. "I think you haven't slept in days, you're wearing yourself out looking for something that just isn't there. I think you need to hang up the suit for a bit, take a break from this. I think you need to come home."

The wind goes out of Nightwing’s sails just as easily as he had gotten them up, slumping into his younger brother’s large frame, hugging him, then tighter as he started to shake, hiccups and wetness through Jason's shirt. "H-he"s really gone." the oldest choked out though the tears trembling in ice cold sadness, "Tim is gone."

Jason swallows the sudden lump in his throat and meets Dick’s bloodshot eyes with blurry ones, "Yeah, big brother, he's gone."

~*~*~*~

She walked like midnight down the dark metallic corridor, heels clicking against it like a heartbeat as she moved towards the light at the end, towards her prize. Temporal displacement was tricky and the whole ship still smelled like charred wood and burning clothing. It was extremely annoying and distasteful, in her opinion. And how dare her captive sleep through it. He brought that disgusting, mortal stench into her abode and really he should feel more responsibility for it. 

She walked into annoying and large circular room with a single spotlight swinging down on a young man chained in the middle on his knees, his arms stretched wide to better show off his chest. He was a slim thing, disappointing on that front really, but he was pretty. She could work with pretty. Well, she sighed pointedly at the unconscious man's form, she would work with pretty if pretty was awake. Walking to a panel on the wall, she hit a few buttons and the ceiling of the room opened up over the captive man, dousing him with ice cold water dropping down from above. That woke him with a start. Rattling and struggling as he tugged at his restraints as he tried to fight under the onslaught of water. She couldn't help but laugh at this, the inevitable struggle. Beautiful. She closed the ceiling after a while, raising the light in the room.

"Pretty mortal, I doubt you know me, though you have probably felt my hand. I am the shadow cast by the light, I am the voice in the back of your petty mortal mind that cries for blood. That hungers for it. Though I doubt one who is so... disciplined, as yourself answers it" she crooned, intimate as she traced the edges of the young man's cowl, "I am ageless and infinite. And it will be my absolute pleasure to break you."

"That's a good monologue, do you practice?" The boy quipped, to his credit his voice never wavered, despite shivering from the cold water, "I'd be terrified, but I know a guy who does a better one." 

The woman, stunningly beautiful the way tigers and sharks and snakes are, just smiled softly as she continued to toy with the edges of his mask. He flinched as something fizzled over his skin like a sparkler being held to close, and her grin grew more preditory. He realized, belatedly, that whatever she'd done had shorted out his suits countermeasures, as she peeled the hood off his face and over his head black hair falling over soot streaked skin.

"You should get comfortable, pretty bird, we're going to become best friends soon." she said so quietly, stroking the blue eyed boys cheek gently, "Such good friends."

He shook his head away roughly, sneering as he tugged on his chains, "Don't get cocky, I've gotten out of worse places than this."

The woman chuckled again, standing up and walking away, "No you haven’t, my little songbird. You have not." her laughter echoed and made the captive’s stomach turn, too similar to the worst person he could imagine. Her heels clicked lightly as she walked back, throwing a newspaper by his feet, "And this time, no one is coming to try and help you either."

The headline, in big, bold leaders, proclaimed the tragic death of the Red Robin, lost bravely in a fire. How gotham mourned him. The captive tugged harder on the chains, cuffs cutting into the exposed flesh of his torn uniform.

"You will fight, Little Timmy, because you have, because that's all you know how to do. But don't worry, I want you to fight. I want you to give me everything you have. And I want you to know that I will still break you. That I will still win, because I am The always, the forever, I am The Catalyst, and this is only the beginning"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first story, so I hope you like it! It's a bit ambitious I agree otl. The Catalyst is an original Character of mine, and she's kinda large if you have questions about her I'll be happy to answer. ^.^


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So i moved. like, far far away from where i was living, and I literally just got internet like two days ago, so this is way way way later than i ever planned on it being orz, sorry.  
> also id like to take this time to say that I am Dyslexic, and the standard English conventions sometimes escape me. If its too bad, just let me know. 
> 
> now.  
> some of the warnings are in this chapter, as well as minor sexual assault. probably not really, but it could be so i figured I would say something here.   
> on with the fic!

Tim wakes up to the water, like ice driving down on him from above. The woman, Catalyst, has taken to waking him up this way because he's better at not inhaling water when he's awake. As it is now his chest is heaving and he’s coughing, gagging, pulling on the chains that keep his arms wide just so he can get air enough in his lungs to cough the water out. Shivering in the cool room, she'd stripped him down to the waist after somehow dismantling his suit’s internal security with a touch. 

"Is it still chaos if you tell it what to do?" He asked with some rough voice as the click of the woman's heels told him she was in the room. "Giving it orders would make it, well, order."

"Oh no, pretty bird, I don't give it orders" she purred with an amused voice as she walked in behind him, long fingers tracing over his naked shoulders and he tried to curl away with a snarl. Her touch makes his skin crawl. "I just promise that it will be the start of something fun." 

A table rose from the floor in front of him, pouring like liquid up from the floor in a way that made Tim dizzy and and little nauseous to watch. "And what's that?" He asked, swallowing hard as she made her way over to the new pieces of furniture and laid something out on it. The floor rippled and bubbles and it seemed to rise up and settle onto rhetoric table, swirls of dark colors making Tim's eyes dance like he was drugged, undoubtedly forming things.

"I'm going to kill you" she said as she grabbed something off the table and walked over to him. She crouched down to his level, her eyes had a wicked gleam as their colors swirled like a tide-pool, "Well. Not your body. Just the you that's in control if it. This is one finely trained meat robot, but you there in the cockpit, that's a problem" as she spoke the black of the floor poured up around her, encasing her flesh and changing it. Bulkier, more masculine. Kevlar? He looked up. Nauseous from the a hitting material to stare into the deep blue eyes of Dick Grayson, the catalysts wicked smile so out of place as the nightwing mask settled over his... her, face. "But, don't worry, little brother, I can fix that" he barely heard the electric crackling of the escrima stick before it struck his jaw. 

"This face is very important to you, I've seen it in that brilliant little head of yours, babybird. And now, I get that you're aware that it's not me. Well, him. But, I look like him a bit. I mean, it's all right there in your head" the woman, could he call her a woman now, that Catalyst and very much not his brother hit him again. Hard. He could taste blood as his inner cheek split against his teeth. The electricity made his head buzz and his vision blur more than the architecture of the room did. This is okay. Physical pain he can take, keep his eyes on the catalyst let them get a few good hits, let them think he's broken before he actually breaks. 

"It's cute you think you can hide from me little brother" not!dick says as he stands, strokes the bruises on Tim's jaw, "you think you can take this, survive somehow. Don't get me wrong, I do want you to try, it's more fun when they try. But I've seen inside your head, kid. I'm going to pull you apart at the seams." He cupped Tim's chin gently, making him look up the familiar Kevlar clad body to the gentle smile on his face, "But first there's something that Dick Grayson has always wanted to do to you. Open up little brother" Tim scowled up at him as this copy of his brother forced his mouth open. His chains rattled loudly as he pulled at them, his anger at the catalyst trying to pervert his brother useless as they pressed one of the escrima sticks past his lips and into his mouth, deep enough that Tim gagged a little.

"Oops" they said with a soft laugh, slowly sliding the weapon out, not all the way, not back past his teeth. Then back in, slow, all the way. Tim watches his not brother’s face for barely a moment, sees the flush on his cheeks, the way he opens his mouth and licks his lips and he has to look away. It's not Dick. Dick wouldn't do this to him, to anyone. "Oh god, little brother you're doing such a good job" a hot thrill runs down Tim's spine and he hates it, hardwired to take any praise he can get from that face that voice. "Such a pretty mouth" the last comment makes him growl and bite down hard on the stick, keeping it from moving. 

"Are we playing that game now?" Dick sounds decidedly disappointed and Tim glared at him. Right before the smell of ozone hit his nose and the last crack of lightning shot him into the edge of darkness. It hurt everything, head swimming, he felt his heart sputter, struggle, lurch and hurt. Whole body locking up, biting harder into the metal of the stick in his mouth as the his muscles lock up. It lasted for a moment but it lasted all his life, he feels like he's dying, like he's having a heart attack and Tim wants to curl into himself and hide, to hug his chest and make the pain stop, to go home. 

But Dick is laughing now and it sounded like him first, Tim hates himself that his brain flashes to thinking his actual brother is laughing at his pain. But then the laughter changes, more maniacal, deranged. Through tears he didn't know he was crying, Tim looked up into the crazed eyes of the joker and felt the terror slide onto his face.

"Stop me if you've heard this one before" the clown laughed as he brought the crowbar down on Tim's head.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dick wakes up with things he has to tell Tim. Every day all the time. More things than he ever had to tell him when his little brother was alive. Sometimes he catches himself right after he wakes up, and that's okay. He is okay, his younger brother is gone and he misses him and it's okay to be sad about that. Other times, he's listening to an automated voice saying this number has been disconnected and doesn't understand. Until he does. And those are bad days. Those are days where he throws up because he can't handle the failure. Where he hides in his bed and he screams. He hates himself because he was there and he couldn't stop this. Hates himself because he managed to soldier on when jason had died, but can't wrap his head around Tim. 

He makes himself get up and go find someone on those days, afraid of what could happen if he's alone for too long. He does normal human things like shower and eat and wear clean clothes, and he is functional enough to drive. He doesn't really know where he's going until he pulls up in front of Damian’s school. He has to just sit in the car for a bit because he can't go in and dismiss Dami without a game plan or the kid will probably refuse just on principal. Doesn't want to repeat the fiasco that was Dick driving around with him because he missed his brothers but couldn't think beyond that. Dick knows how freaked the poor kid. He hadn't meant to. 

The idea came to him as he slowly meandered up to the school and into the office, making the call as he waited. Getting Damian dismissed from classes was as simple as a smile, getting Damian to actually found with him was a little tougher. He had his phone out by the time dick had gotten him to the car. “we can all save ourselves another moment of embarrassment if you just drop me off at home, Grayson” 

He said it like dick didn't know his thumb was hovering over Alfred's speed dial, in case he needs to be rescued from whatever brand of crazy dick was wearing today. Dick started the car and gently reached over to squeeze Damians shoulder, “no. Listen kiddo I have an actual plan today okay, it'll be fun, I promise. We just have to go get Jason.”

“-tt-” Damian clicked his teeth but put his phone away. “this is bound to be entertaining” they both knew he meant trying to get Jason to go anywhere with them as civilians, and not whatever dick had planned. But he wasn't calling backup and dick sighed in relief.

Jason was much harder. 

“please” dick says, trying his best puppy dog eyes as the second oldest robin stood with his arms crossed and a hard frown, “it'll be fun, just the three of us. Brothers, together doing brother things. Please?”

“this is about Tim” Jason says, it's not even a question. Absolutely it's about Tim. Dick gives a helpless shrug and Jason scowls darker. “Fucking Christ, dick. When I said I'd try and be more cooperative with batman and you lot I didn't think that would include team building exercises or whatever this shit is. You've gotta get over whatever the fuck is hanging you up on this, dickiebird, that's not a me problem” He turned to go back inside, probably to lock dick out of his trashy little apartment. But Dick lunged and grabbed his arm. 

“Jason please.” dick tugged trying to turn him around. “when you died in had a team and a girlfriend and i… I had people. I don't. All I have is you two and... I need help, Jason.” that was raw, dick curled into himself after he said it, feeling oddly exposed. But it got the younger man's attention. Jason sighed heavily and turned, shoving his way past dick and towards the car where Damian was waiting. 

“Fucking yes you do” He said as he passed, sliding into the passenger side of the car, “also you're paying for food”

Dick is fine with paying for food. He'll pay for everything today, in fact. He just needs this to go well, just for this one afternoon. He needs to find a little bit of light to hang onto and he's hoping to find it in his two brothers.

They drive somewhat silently, Jason and Damian just waiting to see where it is Dick is taking them. With his recent mental state since Tim's death, it could be almost anywhere and it makes them restless. They end up at the large amusement park down by the waterfront. It's late afternoon on one of Gotham's rare sunny days so there's a good amount of people there. Jason and Damian look at Dick, and Dick returns their gaze with one of his own.

"This is it you guys. Really. I know this is sudden and weird and... But I want you both to have a good time."

Jason and Damian look at each other now, sharing in each other's apprehension. Damian gets out of the car first.

"You're coming on the roller coaster with me, Grayson." He says it like an order, but Dick smiles anyway.

"Only if you're tall enough."

Damian's offended face is priceless; even Jason laughs at it despite still clinging to his hang ups about this outing. He'll be watching Dick carefully.

That one small tease is enough to break some of the tension in the air as the three of them enter the park, Dick paying for three of those incredibly overpriced bracelets that gives them access to everything, while Damian grumbles and tries to remember how tall he was when Alfred last measured him.

Damian gets lucky, he's an inch over the minimum ride height. He smirks as if he was sure of it the whole time, as if he could actually plan his height. Jason calls him "squirt" though as Damian gets onto the ride with Dick, and he's treated to the kid zooming away before he can finish his threat.

The entire afternoon is like this and Dick couldn't be more thankful. Jason and Damian compete and bicker between the rides. Damian eats his weight in cotton candy and gets sick in the trash can next to the tilt-o-whirl. Jason pulls Dick into a contest at the shooting gallery to see who can get this bigger prize. Jason wins of course because guns are his thing, even when it's just an air rifle shooting at crooked targets. He gets a huge stuffed elephant which he gives to Damian. He half expects the kid to reject it and say something about stuffed animals being childish. Instead he goes on a small tangent about what noble creatures elephants are and how much respect they deserve for not trampling everything in their path just because they don't want to.  
Dick walks a couple steps behind his brothers as they move around the park, just watching. The heaviness that sits in his chest is still there, the emptiness that somehow weighs him down. But Jason is smiling, and Damian wants to try deep fried oreos despite his cotton candy mishap, and they're both calling for Dick to hurry up or they'll lose him in the growing crowd. Dick doesn't want to get lost, so he speeds up until they're a cohesive group again. 

The early evening sun is warm, and for the first time in a long while, Dick's brothers have a good afternoon. And he does too.

Dick invites Jason to the manor for dinner but he declines, says he's got work to do. Dick doesn't question whether he's telling the truth or not, but he gets out of the car when he drops Jason off.

"Jason, I... Thank you. For coming today, I mean. I know I'm still not in the best place, but this meant a lot to me. So, you know, thanks."

Jason nods and waves him off as he heads inside. He doesn't like doing that kind of mushy shit, but he doesn't reject the gratitude. Dick knows it's all he's going to get unless he were to thank Jason in private, so he takes it. He climbs back into the car where Damian is frowning at him.

"If you try to thank me in any physical form I will break your fingers."

Hugs. Damian is talking about hugs. Dick opts to just smile softly at him and offer an "I know." as   
he starts the drive home. It's been a good day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... This one starts off nice then gets a little rough. And by rough I mean physical torture, intense mind fuckery, and mild body horror near the end.  
> So please everyone, make sure you tread carefully.

Dick spends a lot of his free time around the manor now, since the Bludhaven police force won't actually let him work 24/7. Something about there being better ways to commit suicide, or something. Just drinking Alfred's cocoa or some of the coffee Tim… had left, watching cartoon shows and catching up on his training. Alfred has told him he’s adjusting well, and even offered to help Dick learn how to help Bruce in WayneTech. Not that Dick wasn't more than qualified, he’s just never had the head for numbers and long-game planning like Tim did. Office settings never really were his thing, but he can fill in for a few months if Bruce needs him too. 

Also apparently he “distracts the female workers.”

Dick likes to think he's coping well now, even though Bruce has made it clear he’s still not allowed to be Nightwing until he stops trying to throw himself into work half cocked. But Dick is reasonably sure it's less about Tim, and more about how he just needs to do something. Though, he has been known to lie to himself, a lot. It's not as hard to breath anymore, his bad days are almost non existent. It's… just not as hard to live, when Tim… isn't. Alfred suggested taking some time to slow down, he said. Take it in. And he is, really, totally slowed down. No more impromptu boys days out, or having to work so hard, do so much stuff that he literally falls asleep as soon as he gets to his bed with no time to think about anything. 

He still finds himself standing in Tim's room in the wee hours of the morning, however, with a cup of the teens expensive as fuck blend. Honestly Dick only knew the difference because this was the stuff Tim drank on stake outs that Dick used to steal sips out of behind his back. They say that smell is the sense most closely linked to memory, and standing in his old room, wildly messy to the untrained eye but somehow so Tim, such organized chaos, drinking his coffee. It was… warm. Nice, like he was there, almost, just behind Dick’s shoulder, commenting on how Alfred's scolded him about picking up again. That if Dick turned around, he'd be alive. 

God. Timmy. 

He let out a choked noise, quickly setting his cup down on the nearest surface, not trusting his shaking hands to hold it. And god he couldn't spill it. Not Tim's coffee. Not on Tim's rug. He needs… he needs to sit down but it's so cluttered… there's no place to sit that isn't just a swirling mass of reminders that Tim's never going to come home and make false promises about cleaning up ever again. Dick paused, working through his breathing exercises as he analyzed his last thought. He could… clean. He could clean Tim's room. Put it all away, put… him away. Yeah, he could. 

It was like, once the decision had been made, Dick's body knew what to do. With one last deep breath he started at the desk, turning a huge pile of folders, cases he'd been working on, into closed, cold and active. He took the active and cold cases and filed them into a box to be sent down to the cave. Logging into Tim's computer was hard, but Tim had set up a personal user for Dick and he didn't feel like snooping. So he just logged into his, setting up Tim's printer to scan the paper files into their hard drive. While that was happening, he got into the rest of the room, picking up the clothes Tim had left lying around. Street clothes, comfortable things he could only really wear around the manor nowadays. Dick is pretty sure they're dirty but he folds them all up neatly before putting them into the hamper. 

He works steadily through the countless junk food wrappers laying around the bed and desk, christ if Timmy wasn't the worst stress eater. He'd just grab anything and eat it, if it had sugar in it. Dick had watched him eat an entire bag of marshmallows by himself once. Never put on a pound. It was terrifying and fascinating. Dick ignored his sniffles, the sound of water hitting food wrappers as he shoved them into a trash back he'd scrounged up. He had finished the coffee, and took the trash out while he waited for a second cup. He didn't make it like Tim did, practically half a box of sugar in it, but the smell was all that mattered, really. It kept Dick focused, through his blurred vision, as he brought a classic order to the tim-system that were the filling cabinets hidden behind his suits in the closet. Concealed like they wouldn't know he had them.

He didn't notice, or bother to question when his cup had been refilled. It wasn't until he had finished making the bed and turned to organize his little brothers nightstand that he realized it was already past noon. And only because he hesitated, knew the things he kept in his nightstand by his bed. This was the ultimate invasion of privacy. But, Dick rationalized, taking a deep breath as his thoughts stumbled over the fact that his brother is dead. And he did just reorganize his underwear drawer. 

Considering the state of the rest of the room, Tim's drawer was pretty neat. His glasses and some extra contact cases, Dick has to shake his head because even more snack food wrappers. A small set of keys, a book with a lock on it, definitely a journal. Dicks fingers itch to open it, to see what's inside… but he can't. Not today, at least, so he sets it aside. There's longish, slim box with a lock that looks similar to the journal’s. Out of curiosity, Dick fits one of the two small keys into it and it clicks open easily. Not something Tim's looking to hide, it seems. But Dick opens it for barely a second, catches a glimpse of a familiar shape, before he snaps it closed and locks it with fumbling fingers, face bright red as he sets the box down next to the journal. Right. Okay. Moving on, right past the small bottle of… something that isn't hand lotion, and things that aren't candy wrappers. There are several used chopsticks that Dick is happily going to toss away. He puts everything back and closes the drawer quickly, opening the second one. It's just chock full of papers and photos. Dick finds himself sitting down as he goes through them, most of the papers are printouts, old articles about his parents trips around the world, their discoveries. The photos look mostly of scenery; Tim was always a photographer at heart. Flipping threw them absently, Dick's blood went hot and cold at the same time as he caught sight of one picture. 

It was of them. He and Tim, eating pizza. He doesn't know who took it, Tim must have if he has it. But neither of them and looking at the person, engrossed in whatever they were talking about. Dick… doesn't remember the night. But if he had to guess, from Tim's youthful features and his happy expression it was before his father had passed. And god, look at Dicks hair. He still had his pony-tail. A picture from simpler days. 

Dick doesn't know how long he sat there staring at the picture. He didn't even know he'd zoned out until someone knocked on the door, jarring him into looking up. Bruce hesitated for the briefest moment before coming in when he saw Dick’s face. He had a plate and a glass of juice in his hands, his eyes taking stock of the almost immaculate room as he walked to the bed, setting them down on the nightstand before sitting next to Dick. He didn't said anything for a long while, just let his oldest son know he was there, waiting for… something. Even now, Dick can't figure his father out. 

“It's a good picture of you two” Bruce said suddenly, not looking at it, “You took him out for pizza as soon as he'd recovered from the clench. It was the first, and turns out, only, day of peace we saw for a while.” Dick was nodding, he remembered now. Tim couldn't really eat more than one slice, but Dick had insisted, surviving a killer virus always warrants pizza. “You should get it framed”

For some reason, and Dick doesn't think he's ever going to know why, he laughed at that. Quiet at first, before it took a turn towards the hysterical, bleeding into unattractive hiccups as he started to cry again. This time, when Bruce turned and held his oldest child, letting him cry into his ridiculously expensive shirt and telling him it was going to be okay, Dick actually believed him. 

\-------

To be conscious was to be in pain, and sleeping was no different The twisting black matter of the place he was trapped jarred him, shifted and twisted, slithered over him like it was trying to map his body. Pressure when it tried to wrap him into different positions until he screamed. And scream he did, until his voice went raw. There was no one here most of the time, it was worse when there was. The Catalyst, taking forms of everyone from Tim's nightmares, his dreams. tormenting him, beating him. As Batman they had branded him, his red robin symbol forever seared into his chest. As The Red Hood they had shot him, over and over. As Robin, stabbed him, every wound left open and bleeding until Tim would pray for death. And then the sickness of this place would seep into it, the thick, ever changing ooze. He could feel it under his skin sealing his wounds, healing him so The Catalyst could just begin again. He could feel it changing him. It made him sick. She had shaved his hair off at some point, clicking her tongue as she moved his head this way and that. His head ached as he felt it grow back in.

“You’re looking so pretty now, baby bird” Tim flinched so hard the metal of his cuffs cut into the still open wounds of his wrists, left there because she liked the color of his blood, but not deep enough(never deep enough) to end his life. She was wearing Dick’s face again, his voice, the way he walks. He wanted to throw up, stomach rolling as his older brother’s hand rubbed at the short hairs on his head.  
“This color looks so good on you” Tim pulled back, snarling. He was backhanded hard for his efforts.

“You know I’m doing this as a gift for you” Dick’s voice said, a little hurt and it set Tims teeth on edge. How dare they act like he was upsetting her. He’d been trapped in this torture for… years? He was tired. He wanted this to end. But they wouldn't let him, and now they have the gall to act like he’s the one who’s inconsiderate. Tim snarled weakly at the monster in his brother's skin. “The last face you see should be of someone you love, right? isn't that what everyone wants?”

Tim blinked tired eyes up at the mockery of his brother. 

“Are you finally going to kill me, then?” he growled. Where he got the strength to sass this monster, he didn't know. Once a robin always a robin, apparently. He even managed a smirk, cracking his chapped lips. It was worth it to watch that face fall, twist into something so alien on his brother’s face that it could never be the real him.

“I was going to make this easy on you” he said as he grabbed Tim's head and squeezed, “but it seems you are not as defeated as you need to be” 

Tim's vision tunneled suddenly as an oil slick kaleidoscope of color swirled before his eyes and suddenly he was falling, falling backwards, away from the Catalyst and into nothing. 

Nothing, forever. 

When he finally landed, he was free from his chains, the ever present pain in his body, the strain from being in one position for so long or contorted on insane whims. Nothing like that, he was… free. He felt… normal. Perfect. He must be dead. Staring out at the endless corridors of a house that seemed too large and too silent, this wasn't what anyone told him heaven would look like. Tim wandered around, an eerie feeling building in his gut. Was the afterlife supposed to be giving him the creeps? The house seemed so familiar, and yet, he couldn't put his finger on why. There was indistinct conversation going on somewhere, other people were here. Maybe he could… find them? Ask them where he was? God, was he still in the hands of that monster? 

He made his way down the hall, down the familiar (no. yes. no? yes?) stairs, and into the dining room that scratches at his brain, should he know this place? 

He must have said that out loud because the conversation of the two adults, male and female, both facing away from him, stopped, and an achingly familiar woman laughed. 

“Shouldn't you?” she asked, still not facing him. And Tim stared. Hard. So familiar, so achingly, painfully familiar. He knows these people, he knows these… he knows these people…. It clicked like the hammer of a gun before the shot. His nose started bleeding

“Mom? Dad!” he called out, startled, excited. He was dead, that was okay, but he’s going to see his parents! He reached, a hand on each of their shoulders and spun them around-

Only to scream, stumble back, a hand up over his blood stained mouth because… because… they had no face, nothing. Their bodies looked back at him, could they look back?, at him, faceless, no eyes no nose, no mouth. He… he couldn't remember what they looked like. These two people… his… parents? He should remember their faces…. no, wait. Who were they? Who were they?!

“Who are you?” he asked, demanded, reaching for them again. But at his touch they burst into flames, standing there as they burned hollow. He should… he should have known who they were. It eats at him, the dark and empty feeling. He was supposed to know them. And he stood there, dumbstruck, as the two bodies collapsed into a cloud of ash, their embers bright red, setting the carpet alight. Soon the whole place was burning and all Tim could do was stand there, staring. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was… losing something, every time something else caught fire, he felt like a little more sand slipped through his fingers. 

“Tim” someone else called, lots of people, overlapping each other, from behind, from far away. And he was bleeding again, his ears, pouring wet and hot down the sides of his face as he whipped around because his other family, Batman and Nightwing, his team, even Red Hood… maybe Damian, he still had them. But as he turned he realized he couldn't remember their names, and again, he found himself in front of humans with no face, people he should know. He can still hear his name echoed backwards through the expanse of the burning house, as everyone he knows he should know but can't remember catch fire and fall to ash, one by one. There’s blood in his mouth and he’s screaming, but he can't remember, he can't…

He wakes up to water and screams, pulling, struggling to get free. He’s being held, chained, on his knees. His entire body hurts, pain was everything he remembered. Except… he remembered that he couldn't. And he screamed again, at the monster with the face of a man he can't remember. 

“Bastard!” he cried, anger, fury, filling his body, making his vision red, “My memories! Give them back! Give them back to me!” He screamed, the cuffs cutting into his wrists deeper, blood pouring freely down his arms. “I’ll kill you” he hissed, pure venom in his words, “I’ll get out,and I’ll kill you”

The man smirked, clicking his tongue and crouching down to his level. 

“Poor little brother, so feral with desperation. So ready to kill. What would daddy say to this? Oh, wait, you can't remember him anyway, so what's the point.” the chuckle was deep and twisted and it got Tim’s blood so hot he screamed, wide and unattractive. he screamed for everything he lost, all the pain he was in, the fire in his blood, he screamed. 

And all the man did was laugh as the inky blackness from the floor slide up his captives body. Over broken knees and gunshot thighs and up a whipped and slashed stomach, a branded chest and a bruised neck, sliding into the screaming mouth of the teen practically driven insane with rage over his loss. Tim gagged, choked on the thick black matter, cocking and trying to expel it from his mouth but the Catalyst caught his jaw and forced his mouth closed.

“Swallow.” he commanded, his tone deep and menacing. It brought tears to the chained teen’s eyes and he hated it because he didn't know why. “Swallow, and I promise that I’ll fix your memory” 

The ex robin's eyes narrowed and his face twisted with hate as much as it could, but he swallowed. The man's features melted and for one horrifying second Tim thought he was still losing his mind. But then he was looking up at a woman who’s probably what an apex predator would look like in human form, wild, beautiful, dangerous like a poison flower. 

“That’s a good boy” She crooned, petting his face. Tim jerked away, which didn't seem to bother her very much, beyond grabbing his face in a vice grip like nothing he could ever describe. He could feel the black liquid pooling into his body, seeping into his stomach, defiling his being from the inside out. And suddenly he was as rigid as a statue, unable to move, solid as the material the darkness can pool itself into. He wanted to sneer, to snarl, to scream again in his rage. All he had ever been allowed to do, but nothing worked, nothing responded to his thoughts, his mental urges. And she laughed and laughed. If fire had a voice, it would sound like her laughter.

“Cute little pet” she purred, as she pinched his lips together, thick dark thread and a sinister needle appearing out of nowhere, “Too loud, I think, however. You are teetering on the edge of perfection, pretty one.” 

She said it like she wasn't pushing the needle through his skin, up and out, curling down to do the same thing over and over, like she was stitching together a handbag or a torn cuff and not a human being’s mouth. 

“Just a few minor alterations, and then you’ll be beautiful” his eyes were wide with agony and hate, attempting to stare her down as she stitched his mouth together like he was a doll. He could deal with the agony. This won't kill him. She has to give back what she took. 

He must have been making noise, whimpering or whining. She was hushing him as she finished, and he could feel warm liquid dripping down his face. She pet his cheek gently and sickeningly, cooing softly like she was there to help him. 

“I’m going to shut your eyes now, pretty thing. Would you like me to wear his face again? Just for you?”

He didn't know what made him nod, but he did, something lurking in his chest that wasn't broken yet, wasn't held still. It hurt, ached deep and wet as the woman slid back into the shape of the blue eyed man. He smiled gently as he reached up and tugged Tim’s eyelids closed and away from his eyes. The pain was unique and indescribable, but Tim never looked away, unable to move under his hands, until he could see nothing but a crimson soaked darkness. 

Gauze pressed over the fresh wounds, blocking out the last light filtering through his damaged lids. And with a last touch to his head, the man whispered against his ear, “Good job, little brother” as like sand through a broken hourglass everything that he could still remember flowed free, and he sagged boneless, limp and hollow to the ground. 

Only the sharp inhales from its nose indicated that this body, this life that had ended and began at the same time, was still living. It had died in agony, terrified and alone, and was reborn the same way. But this time the hand in its short, snow white hair was gentle, loving. Like a mother's as she crooned and quieted his noises, the trauma of birth is hard for everything. 

“I know it's hard now, my pretty one, the dark is scary and you can't even make a sound. But soon, my lovely one, soon you will understand. You will be perfect, immaculate and beautiful, and deadly like ice itself.” Delicate, feminine fingers tapped the newborn’s teenaged ears, “I have just the way to help you see more clearly. A.. tribute, to an old friend.” 

she drew her fingers away as the silky black material swirled and held the poor boy down, forming into a knife to cut in deep behind one ear and then the other.

“Oh hush now” she said, petting the boy's sweat soaked face, shocky, pale and cold to the touch. She held out two metal devices, small and slim with wires that twisted and coiled like they were alive. The ooze snatched them up, and with the precision of a seasoned doctor, worked the strange devices into the overworked body. Ripping muffled, aborted screams from the poor form as the devices attached themselves to his ear canal deep in his head. 

“We have a lot of work to do, you're just going to have to get used to this” the wretched thing cried out at every word as it reverberated around his skull, light flashing in his brain. Seeing for the first time as an overload of information filtered through his augmented ears, informing him of everything he was near for hundreds of yard, but he lacked the skills to understand. 

The catalyst stood over the writhing form with a sigh, this was disappointing, to say the least. The body should at least remember how to cope with such pain. She wasn't the teaching type, really. This pathetic creature had all the skills needed to become the toy she wanted it to. It just had to get over its infantile petty “help me I'm making noise” state of life. And fast because this is getting boring. 

“Silence” she ordered it. With a soft whine the thing finally fell quiet, curled into itself with its bloodied hands over its ears, trembling but quiet. “You don't remember why you're here, that's okay. It's not required of you. Know that I saved you, and in return I only ask for obedience” She kept her voice carefully pitched, low and cool as she moved across the room, the floor rising to meet her, keeping her footsteps muffled. Even the softest sound drew the creatures attention, following her movements. Good. 

A monitor and keyboard appeared on the wall as she approached, a language of rapidly shifting symbols appeared on the screen as she typed. The thing behind her lurched, crawling with its wounded, slowly healing body, towards her, an infant longing for its mother. She paid it no mind for now, sending out her messages through the chaos nexus and into the cyberspace of the universe she currently hovered just outside of. Replies came back instantly, reading of skepticism and doubt. Maybe she had bragged about her pet's abilities. These people, the richest, most depraved individuals, demanded a demonstration. She sneered at the screen, looking down at the the boy-creature that had managed to get across the room, panting hard through its nose as it laid its head on her foot. Two months, she sent back, as she extracted her foot from the creature and left the room. A demonstration would do them all good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everybody who's read this far ^^  
> Both Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated. And if you have any questions don't be afraid to ask

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first story, so I hope you like it! It's a bit ambitious I agree otl. The Catalyst is an original Character of mine, and she's kinda large if you have questions about her I'll be happy to answer. ^.^


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